


Go With The Flow

by themoononastick



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-16
Updated: 2011-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-20 11:50:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themoononastick/pseuds/themoononastick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not A Thing</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go With The Flow

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to crowgirl13 for the beta.

Ryan finds out pretty quickly that Jon is the most tactile person he has ever met. Jon slings his arms round shoulders and waists, sits a little too close when there’s no need to, and when he can’t touch in a physical sense he does it with his eyes, focusing intently on whoever he’s listening to and forcing eye contact when it’s his turn to speak. There’s a weight to Jon’s gaze that feels heavy on Ryan’s skin like something he could shrug off if he wanted to, but Ryan finds that he doesn’t. Instead he gives as good as he gets, stares back daring Jon to back down. But he doesn’t get the fight that he thinks he wants, he just gets a smile – lopsided, half of Jon’s face curved into a grin – and an arm round his shoulder instead.

It takes Ryan a while to realize that there’s nothing aggressive about Jon’s lack of belief in personal space. It isn’t some kind of pushy alpha-male attempt at forcing himself and his opinion on those around him. It’s just Jon being Jon and maybe that’s why Ryan has such a hard time with it. He’s looking for motives where there are none and, well, he isn’t used to that. Ryan knows he’s too cynical, that he looks at life through eyes too jaded for his age but he can’t help it, can’t change himself overnight and, neither can Jon. So he learns to deal with it and not automatically shy away when Jon leans on him or tiptoes up and hooks his chin over Ryan’s shoulder to ask a question.

Jon lets them dress him up in flowers and eyeliner, laughs when he sees himself in the mirror shaking his head and saying _Tom said this would happen, now I owe him a case of beer_. He jokes about it to the press, playing up the way he doesn’t quite fit in (yet) but that he’s trying. But if an interviewer tries to make it more than a joke he turns fierce, cuts through the bullshit and claims his place: Jon’s loyal to them and proud of what he’s doing. Ryan likes that about him.

It’s not like Jon is some mythical creature who does no wrong. He has flaws like the rest of them. Jon can be an asshole when he wants to be, can pick fights for the sake of it when he’s tired or just plain bored and there’s a thin line between laid back and passive aggressive that he crosses on a regular basis, but somehow that makes Ryan like him more. Knowing he’s as fucked up and stupid as the rest of them makes him easier to take. And somewhere along the line Jon has stopped being just a replacement and become the glue that holds them together, so Ryan stops questioning and just lets it be.

When the tour finally ends and Jon goes back to Chicago, Ryan misses him. He doesn’t expect to and the strength of the feeling surprises him. It’s like he can feel the imprint of Jon’s arm across his shoulders, the warmth of Jon’s body sitting too close and he finds himself unconsciously looking for a way to fill the void, throwing his arm round Brendon’s shoulders when they go out to get something to eat, pulling Spencer into a hug that lasts a little too long. When Jon flies into town Ryan makes sure he’s the one who picks him up at the airport and that it’s his house Jon stays at first because… honestly? Ryan doesn’t know why he does it, but he’s gotten used to having Jon around and it feels good to see him again.

At the cabin Jon listens as Ryan explains ideas for the songs he's writing, nodding along when he agrees, making subtle suggestions when he doesn't and in the evenings they sit on the rickety old porch swing getting stoned and talking all that clichéd shit that comes from too much weed and too much time away from the urgency of deadlines and tour dates and all the other things that make up the crazy life they lead.

They don’t quite manage to set the world to rights and they never decide on the meaning of life or if the universe has an end or just goes on forever, but they do work out that cheap trashy food heated up in a microwave tastes amazing when you’re stoned and that mixing chocolate and strawberry milkshakes together is not the taste explosion that they thought it would be. And, in between the music and the laughter, Ryan learns to read Jon’s moods, to know when he’s unsure of his ideas and how to tease them out of him and to not take offence when Jon’s blunt to the point of rudeness because, really, he’s too tired to keep his eyes open but he’s staying awake to give Ryan someone to bounce ideas off of.

In return Ryan tells Jon about his shitty childhood, things he's pretty sure Spencer will have told Jon already (as part of the 'How to deal with Ryan when he's being weird' course for beginners that Ryan knows Spencer dishes out on a regular basis), but he feels like he owes it to Jon to let him hear it from his own mouth instead of second-hand. And the strange thing is, when he's finished, when he's told the whole sorry tale and they've moved on to swapping stories of disastrous dates and high school embarrassments, Ryan feels lighter somehow, like telling this one last person was the thing he needed to do to truly begin to put it all behind him and start to move on.

One night, after a game of rock, paper, scissors to see who has to go inside and forage for food, Ryan stumbles into the kitchen nodding his head at Jon’s shout of “Poptarts, bring me Poptarts and I’ll love you forever!” and finds Brendon perched on the countertop with Spencer nestled between his legs. Brendon has one hand wound into Spencer’s hair and the other down the back of Spencer’s pants and Ryan can only see the hand that Spencer has around Brendon’s waist but from the way Spencer’s other arm is moving and the rhythm of their hips jerking together he’s pretty sure he knows where the other hand is. They’re so focused on each other that they don’t notice him standing in the doorway and that’s fine because Ryan is kind of frozen in shock. Not because of what they’re doing but because he didn’t _know_ , he always thought Spencer would tell him something like this and he wonders why he didn’t. But then he realizes that now is probably not the best time to ask and that also, now is probably the very best time for him to back the hell out of the room.

When he crashes back outside Jon looks up at him sad-faced at his food-empty hands, saying “Did Brendon eat all the Poptarts again? Do we have to have _another_ band meeting about not putting empty boxes back in the cupboard?”

Ryan tries to say something but he can’t, he just collapses on to the chair, sprawling over Jon, laughing so hard that tears run down his face, unable to speak a single word. Jon waits for his laughter to subside and then, when it doesn't, he pokes Ryan in the side with his finger saying, “What? Share! A joke’s only funny if more than one person knows what it is.”

Ryan sits up a bit, looks away because he knows if he looks Jon in the face he's just going to start laughing again.

“Spence and Brendon are fucking.” Ryan waves his hand vaguely at the door, “In the kitchen.”

“Okay.” Jon drawls the vowels out so that the word becomes a sentence on its own. “Why's that funny? I mean, yeah, it's a reason to add bleach to the shopping list and be careful where you put your toast in the morning but...” There's a slight strain to Jon’s tone, like he's trying to keep it light on purpose, unsure of how to approach the subject. But more importantly, Ryan thinks, there's a distinct lack of surprise.

“You knew?”

Jon waggles his hand in a 50/50 motion. “I kind of guessed.”

Ryan raises his eyebrows and tries to work out why Jon managed to spot what was going on when he didn't. Then he realizes that Jon is still looking at him like he’s uncertain of how he feels.

“Just...” Ryan struggles for the right way to explain himself. “Imagine you've just walked in on one of your brothers screwing someone.”

Jon thinks for a moment and then his eyes widen almost comically. “Oh. _Oh!_ ” Jon makes a face that sums up how Ryan feels then loops his arm round Ryan’s shoulder and pats his arm sympathetically. “So this is embarrassed ‘I wish I had been more prepared to see that’ laughter, not ‘I just found out my best friend is kinda gay and I’m freaking out’ laughter, right?”

Ryan laughs again, but it’s more controlled this time. “Pretty much. But there’s also a hint of ‘how come Spencer didn’t tell me’ to it as well.”

They sit in silence for a while, smoking the joint that Jon rolled while Ryan was busy overreacting until, as he passes the joint, Jon leans in and whispers conspiratorially in Ryan’s ear.

“We should make out.”

“What?” Ryan leans away from Jon, looking at him as though he’s gone insane.

“We should make out and let them catch us,” Jon waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “See how they like it.”

“But we're not fucking.” Ryan’s night has become unbelievably surreal.

“Yeah but...” Ryan has the weirdest feeling Jon is going to say _we could be_ , but instead he pauses, then says, “It would be worth it to see their faces, right? Think of it as revenge, with a bonus.”

Ryan thinks that, honestly, he must have smoked too much weed because Jon’s idea kind of makes sense. So he moves forward and in at the same time, lips brushing softly against Jon’s at first and then harder, until it’s a slide of open mouths and panting breaths. Jon’s mouth tastes bitter like smoke and too much coffee but there’s something sweeter underneath and Ryan thinks that sums Jon up perfectly. And when Jon pulls back, then stands, holding out his hand for Ryan, steering them through the cabin to his room muttering something about “we should practice some more”, Ryan doesn’t question it, he just follows, hands clasped on Jon’s hips, suddenly not wanting to lose contact with him. Hours later, when they fall asleep on top of the sheets, still in their clothes but tangled together, the last thing Ryan thinks is that his lips feel bruised and swollen but there’s a warmth spreading through him that has nothing to do with the weed.

In the morning it isn’t awkward like maybe it should be. There’s no taste of regret when Jon kisses him awake and when they walk into the kitchen and Jon palms the back of Brendon’s neck and drops a kiss into his hair to say hello then winds his arms round Spencer’s waist, stands on tip toes chin resting on Spencer’s shoulder to watch the coffee pot drip, Ryan doesn’t feel jealous even though he thinks perhaps he should be.

It happens again and then more often. Jon’s touches become deliberate, have a meaning to them, an offer or a suggestion and Ryan follows their direction, adds touches of his own. They make out and jerk each other off but they don’t fuck, not yet anyway, and they don’t talk about it, don’t make it into A Thing, because it isn’t, not yet and maybe it never will be, but, somewhere along the way they forget that they only started doing this as a joke. Late at night, with the weight of Jon’s arm across his chest, Ryan wonders if he should worry about it, if perhaps they _should_ talk it through, but he’s tired and his eyes feel heavy and there’s no sense in staring at the ceiling worrying if it will fall when he could be asleep.

When they do let slip to Spencer and Brendon it’s by accident and not design. Ryan comes down for breakfast and Jon’s sitting there already, his hair and beard the very definition of unkempt and Ryan laughs as he says “You look like Grizzly Adams.”

Jon looks up, grins and makes a kissy face “Yeah but you want me anyway.”

And Ryan doesn’t think at all before he leans forward to kiss him, murmuring “Fine, whatever, so I have a kink for mountain men.” Opening his mouth when Jon’s tongue licks across his bottom lip, tasting cinnamon from Jon’s cereal mixed with coffee and a lingering hint of toothpaste mint.

It’s only when he hears a “Um, guys?” from Spencer that Ryan remembers where he is and steps back looking guilty.

Brendon’s spoon is caught in midair between his bowl and his mouth, dripping milk down onto the table top as he stares wide-eyed in their direction and Spencer – Spencer has his best bitch face on and his arms crossed over his chest and if Ryan isn’t mistaken he’s tapping his foot on the floor like a sitcom dad about to read the riot act. Ryan ducks his head and says “Surprise?” and beside him he can hear Jon trying unsuccessfully not to laugh. When Ryan looks his way Jon has his head on the table, shoulders shaking with laughter and Ryan thinks that any second he’s going to do the same.

Spencer clears his throat, starts to say something and then stops. He looks really pissed and that was never Ryan’s intention. But Ryan knows the best way to deal with it is to wait and let Spencer have his say in his own time instead of rushing him and maybe making more of it than it needs to be. And, after what Ryan is convinced is the longest and most uncomfortable silence in the world, Spencer says simply, “You never told me.”

“You never told me about you and Brendon.” Ryan arches an eyebrow and Spencer glares at him but manages to look embarrassed at the same time.

Jon takes the silence that follows as his cue to leave, dragging Brendon with him saying “Hey, Brendon, lets go for a walk.” Adding _now_ when Brendon doesn’t move.

When they’re alone, Ryan looks up at Spencer, waiting for him to speak.

“So,” Spencer sounds wary, like he’s afraid he’ll say the wrong thing, “You and Jon, how long?”

Ryan shrugs, “A couple of weeks. You and Brendon?”

“A little longer.” Spencer bites his lip and looks down at the floor. “Are you happy?”

Ryan hadn’t really thought about it like that, but when he does he realizes he is. “Yeah, I am. Are you?”

“Yeah.”

Spencer’s smile is wide, genuine and infectious and they stand in the kitchen for a minute just grinning at each other until Spencer steps forward, punching Ryan lightly on the arm, laughing as he says, “Come on, let’s go find them and pretend we’re not talking. It’ll be fun!”

Ryan half expects Jon to back off now that their scheme’s run its course, but he doesn’t. They still make out, they still don’t quite fuck and they still don’t talk about it. The rest of the time at the cabin passes like some weird kind of extended double date - it’s fun and easy and they all end up closer and more in tune with each other than they’ve ever been and, even after they leave and decide to start on the album all over again, Ryan knows that he won’t look back on their time there with any regret.

Back in Vegas, in the rehearsal space that’s new to Jon but feels like home to the rest of them, they write songs together, sitting side by side picking notes out on acoustic guitars, laughing and bickering about keys and chord changes and who gets to sing the words that, ultimately, will belong to Brendon anyway. Ryan thinks it feels good to shift some of the responsibility for writing away from himself, to share the weight of it and not let himself get too caught up in the process like he did with the songs they scrapped. When they’re all played out of ideas for the day Jon stays at Ryan’s house. Ryan doesn’t offer and Jon doesn’t suggest, there’s no need. It feels natural for Jon to stay in his seat in the car when they drop Spencer off and then again at Brendon’s place and it feels right to stop for takeout and bicker over the menu, laughing at each other’s inability to decide and walking away with too much food for just the two of them.

They smoke and eat and eat and smoke. They sit on the couch and talk about the past and the future, Jon’s fingers tracing patterns on Ryan’s skin through the denim of his jeans. And when Jon slides off the couch and to his knees, fingers already pulling at the buckle on Ryan’s belt, Ryan doesn’t question it, just leans back and watches as Jon smiles a leer up at him and licks his lips in an exaggerated way to break the tension that’s fizzing between them. Ryan can’t stop the laughter that bubbles up from his throat but it’s okay because Jon laughs too even as he’s encouraging Ryan to lift his hips so Jon can work his pants down below his knees. Jon kisses his way up Ryan’s thighs, beard scraping at his skin, his lips soothing the sting. Ryan twists his fingers into Jon’s hair and Jon arches up into it, rolling his head against Ryan’s palm, murmuring appreciation under his breath. Jon uses his hands for balance, not to hold Ryan down, ghosting touches over his hips, up his chest as he nuzzles into Ryan’s crotch, hot breath against his skin the precursor to Jon’s mouth hot and wet around him. Jon is slow and steady, all sloppy-mouth and firm tongue. He’s taking his time and Ryan watches the slide and stretch of Jon’s lips, the way his cock shines with saliva when Jon mouths just the head, tongue flickering in circles, beautiful and obscene.

A song springs into Ryan’s head and he hums it out and Jon pulls back with a grin.

“Lionel Richie, Ross? Really? I can’t promise I can do this all night long but we’ll see.”

Ryan grins, feigning looking at his watch and says “I’m timing you” before his voice breaks into a moan as Jon takes him in again.

The hand that isn’t in Jon’s hair roams free, stroking Jon’s neck, his face, his lips and each touch brings a different reaction. Jon sucks harder or softer or stills completely just his tongue working in concert with the way Ryan’s hand touches him and Ryan thinks it would be easy, so easy to wind both hands into Jon’s hair and force the rhythm, to let his hips buck up hard and fast and fuck Jon’s mouth. He’s pretty sure Jon would let him if he wanted to. But he doesn’t, he lets Jon take his time, lets Jon tease and wring soft moans from him until he’s panting _Jon Jon Jon_ over and over again, lights flashing behind his eyes as he comes.

Jon sits back on his heels, smiling as he wipes a hand across his mouth and starts jerking himself off but Ryan stops him, pulls him up onto the couch and between his legs so Jon’s back is against his chest, curling one hand around Jon’s cock and touching Jon wherever he can with the other. Jon moans and arches and Ryan thinks that he finally gets him, gets the want to touch and be touched and he tries to give him what he needs as Jon melts bonelessly against him and comes sticky-wet over Ryan’s hand.

Later, when they stumble to the bedroom and fall onto the bed, Jon spreads his legs, feet planted on the mattress and a pillow under his hips, and Ryan slides between them, grinning as Jon hands him lube, a condom and a smile. Ryan watches as Jon’s back arches and his eyes flare wide, listens to the way Jon says his name, the sound of it stretched out into a groan, and sinks into the feeling of Jon under him, tight around him, and he thinks that, yeah, they still won’t talk about it in the morning and it still won’t be A Thing.

But it could be.


End file.
